


freezer burn

by everywordnotsaid



Category: FBI (TV 2018)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-04 23:44:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16799416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everywordnotsaid/pseuds/everywordnotsaid
Summary: Ghosts have a way of finding you in the strangest places. Like walk-in freezers, for instance.





	freezer burn

There are a lot of ways OA has thought he was going to die. He’d thought he’d die, 15 years old in New York watching the twin towers burn and feeling every eye on the street swivel to his brown skin. He thought he’d die 19 and stupid and signing the next four years of his life away in the dingy army recruitment center down the street from his house in Bushwick. Then he was 22 and in a dug out basement in Iraq listening to his friends die and he was sure that was the end of the line. There’s a million deaths he should have died, a million close calls and near misses and should have been’s. Bullets and bombs and chemical weapons, he’s considered them all. He’d never thought he’d freeze to death on a cargo ship in New York in the middle of July, though. That’s definitely a new one.

“Hey, OA, just hang on okay. I’m gonna get you out.” Maggie’s voice filters in through the heavy door of the walk-in freezer, tinny and faint. “Do you see anything in there that you could use to get the door open from your side?”

He glances around the cramped space. There’s a few metal-framed shelves and some empty boxes sitting in the corner. Plus the five kilos of cocaine sitting shrink wrapped on the said shelves. Pretty slim pickings. At least the evidence is locked up tight; it’s just unfortunate he’s locked up with it. He sighs, blowing on his hands and trying to rub some warmth back into them. His fingertips are already bloodless and painful.

“There’s nothing in here, unless you can figure out how to break out of a jacked-up industrial freezer with cardboard boxes and some freezer-burned coke.”

He calls back, dully sardonic. There’s a pause, and he can nearly picture the purse of Maggie’s lips as she tries to decide whether to laugh at the joke or be annoyed by his flippancy. He can tell which option wins because there’s a muffled huff of laughter from the other side of the door before she replies. He smiles, head ducking, and his cheeks burn.

“Well I’ve had just about as much luck out here as you. You’d think the hold of a boat would at least have a crowbar or something useful lying around.”

“You’d think. Rude of that guy not to leave something behind after he trapped me in a walk-in, bolted, and then locked you down here with me. It’s almost like he doesn’t like us or something.”

There’s a moment of silence and OA leans his head against the frosted wall of the freezer, folding his arms across his chest, hands tucked into his armpits. His sweat-dampened shirt is working against him now that he’s out of the 90-degree weather and he shivers.

“I’m going to try to call the bureau again.”

Maggie says finally, voice carefully calm.

“Yeah, maybe your service will magically start working if you try enough times. I’ve heard that’s a thing.”

OA quips dryly. Maggie doesn’t say anything. Probably because she’s calling 911 for the umpteenth time since he got stuck in this industrial strength freezer. There’s probably a lesson here, he thinks, about running in ahead of your partner and not entering freezers without back up and trust and all that, but he’s too cold to think of it right now. There’s a frustrated curse from outside and he raises an eyebrow.

“Maggie, it didn’t work the past six times, I don’t know why you’re surprised.”

“Yeah, well, I had to try.”

She barks roughly and OA winces. He tries to think of something reassuring to say but comes up empty. There’s not much reassuring about this situation.

“How long do you think it’ll take them to notice we’re missing?”

He asks instead, staring up at the frosty off-white ceiling. It glitters back at him in the dull light of the single bulb that hangs flickering in the middle of the room.

“A couple of hours probably. I told Jubal we were just looking into an anonymous tip. Nobody’s expecting us to check in till three-”

She stops abruptly. She doesn’t say what they’re both thinking. It’s a couple of hours OA doesn’t have. He’s already starting to loose feeling in his hands and feet, capillaries constricting to redirect warm blood to his vital organs, keeping his heart beating. He remembers basic training, how they’d lectured them about the different stages of hypothermia. He’d laughed at it back then. They all knew where they were going they wouldn’t need to worry about freezing to death. He regrets not paying more attention now.

From outside the freezer he hears the sound of metal against metal as Maggie starts to whale on the door with something. Apparently whatever it is doesn’t work because the door stays closed and there’s a loud clatter followed by a frustrated groan. She’s already tried the door to the stairs up to the deck twice.

“Did you know some people who freeze strip all their clothes off just before they die? It’s called paradoxical undressing. The blood vessels near the surface of your skin start to dilate and it makes you feel like you’re burning up right before you lose consciousness.”

He asks conversationally. His hands and feet are really starting to hurt now, and he tucks his fingers further into his armpits, clenching his fists hard.

“Well, good thing you don’t have to worry about that because I’m going to get you out of there-”

“Maggie-”

He says, trying to interrupt but she just barrels on.

“No, OA, you’re not going to die and you’re not-”

“Maggie!”

He tries again, louder this time, and this time she falls silent.

“Maggie, please. If I…if I don’t make it. Please… put all my clothes back on before you let CSI in okay. I don’t want Mosier looking at pictures of my frozen dick. That shit ain’t right.”

There’s a long beat.

“OA.”

Maggie says finally, voice dangerously even.

“Yes?”

“You’re an asshole.”

He laughs, breath hanging in front of him in an icy cloud.

“I try.”

Walking over to the corner with the cardboard boxes he drags a few back and gives them a few stomps to flatten them out before sinking down on the rudimentary floor covering. His heart has started to hammer uncomfortably in his chest and the shivering’s gotten worst. He tries to tell himself he’s not scared, but he’s never been a very good liar.

“You doing okay in there?”

Maggie asks, and he can hear the undercurrent of concern.

“Just getting a little chilly.”

He says honestly. There’s a pause and OA can hear the gears in Maggie’s brain turning even through the half a foot of solid steel separating them.

“Listen, just hang tight, I’m gonna try something.”

“Don’t worry, not going anywhere.”

He calls out after her receding footsteps but she either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t care enough to give him an answer. He rolls his eyes and leans back against the door. A few seconds later there’s the loud abrupt bang of a gun going off and he jumps. There’s a soft but emphatic fuck and the sound of a boot hitting something hard and then more expletives. He’s never heard Maggie curse like that before. In another situation it would have been funny.

“Jesus, what’d you do? Try to shoot the damn door open?”

He snarks when he hears Maggie approach again. She doesn’t reply.

“Oh my god, you really did try to shoot the door open.”

“What,” she asks, a little sheepishly, “we’re kinda running out of options here. The lock’s toast but he must have shoved something in front of it from the outside.”

“I don’t think going all Rambo is gonna help.”

He says, gently. Maggie sighs and then there’s the rustle of clothes and a soft thud from outside as she sits.

“You’re probably right it’s just…”

“It sucks to not be able to do a-anything? I know the feeling.”

He stutters out. The shivers are starting to get spasmodic now, muscles clenching violently, and he draws his knees up to his chest, circling his arms around them to keep his body steady. It’s good that he’s shivering though, he tells himself. It means his body still has the energy to fight. It’s when you stop shivering that’s you have to worry.

“They’re gonna find us. They’ll notice when we don’t check-in and they’ll find us. You just gotta hold on for a bit longer okay.”

Maggie intones with a confidence he’s not sure either of them feels. And he figures that’s not so hard, he’s been hanging on by the tips of his fingers his whole damn life it feels like sometimes, what’s a few more hours. He thinks he owes her that much at least.

“Tell me a s-story.”

He asks, sinking deeper against the wall, curled as tightly into a ball as he can get. He remembers that much from basic, though he’s not sure how much good it’ll do. The cold’s already seeping through the thin cardboard sheets in between him and the ground, seeping into his bones.

“What?”

Maggie’s voice is confused.

“Tell me a story.” He says again, and they both pretend not to notice how much his voice shakes, “We’re stuck here for w-who knows how long, might as well. Anyways, it’ll help me s-stay awake.”

So she does. She tells him about growing up in Indiana, about her dad and grand-dad and how she knew she wanted to grow up to be a cop since she was five years old and watched them put on their badges every day for work. Tells him about moving to New York and about meeting her husband in a seedy bar in Brooklyn and her first day with the FBI when she’d learned the hard way not to wear heels to work. At first he contributes, interjecting every now and then with a question or a laugh, but eventually he slows and stops till it’s just the sound of her voice filtering through the door. He doesn’t know how long she talks, time seems to slow and bend and he can’t keep track of the seconds anymore. He stopped shivering a while ago, and that should worry him but he can’t find it in him to be concerned.

“OA!”

He starts, lifting his head from his chest where it had fallen. He realizes Maggie’s been calling out his name, but he’s not sure for how long.

“’M fine. Just took a little nap.”

He mumbles, lips numb and stumbling over the words.

“Yeah, well, no more naps okay. You can sleep when you’re out of there.”

She commands, tense.

“I’ll try my best.”

He ekes out, voice weak and frail.

“You better. Remember what I said? You’re stuck with me, alright, and you’re not getting out of it this easy.”

He can’t help but smile at the sheer determination her voice, like if she just believes in it hard enough the world will be forced to concede to her will. He’s always admired that about her, the way she refuses to yield to anything, a force of nature in her own right. Still, there’s only so much willpower can do and it doesn’t do much against sub-zero temperatures.

“Maggie.”

He says, and his voice is serious. His heart beats slow and steady in his ears, too slow.

“I want you to know, if I don’t make it out, this isn’t your fault.”

“I don’t want to hear it, OA.”

She bites out, and he can hear the frustration, the helplessness in her voice.

“I’m serious, Maggie. It’s not your fault. I need you to understand that, okay.”

“You’re not going to die. You can’t just-just give up like this!”

He sighs through his nose, lips pressed tight across his teeth.

“I’m not giving up, I’m...Look, back in Iraq, after al-Asad, all I wanted was for someone to tell me it wasn’t my fault. I just wanted someone to say, there wasn’t anything you could have done different to stop it. It nearly killed me, not knowing. So all I’m saying is, it’s not your fault, Maggie.”

Every word is a struggle but he forces them out slowly but surely because he has to, because she has to hear this. There’s a long pause before she replies.

“You know it wasn’t your fault then either, right?”

And the truth is he doesn’t know. He’s still not sure and it’s something that follows him in every step he takes, something he’s not sure he’ll ever come to terms with. But he’s made his peace with that as much as he can, and it’s not what Maggie needs to hear right now so instead he says:

“Yeah, I know.”

His head is very heavy now so he rests it back against the cool metal of the door, lets his eyes drift shut. He’s so cold; he doesn’t think he’s ever been cold like this before. He can’t really remember what it’s like to be warm.

“Tell me another story.”

He asks again, and she must hear something in his voice because she doesn’t question the request.

“Once, I got assigned this new partner, some hotshot undercover ex-military guy. And I’d just been through something bad, really bad, and I didn’t want to give anyone a chance. But then I met him. He was kind of a dick sometimes, and made some really terrible jokes, but he always had my back. No matter what. And he saved my life. And I know that sometimes he doesn’t believe it, but he’s a good person, and I wish he’d forgive himself for things that aren’t his job to carry.”

And maybe it’s the cold, maybe it’s because he’s dying, maybe it’s just Maggie, but OA feels tears prick at the back of his eyes and his throat tightens painfully. He swallows hard, opens his mouth to say something. He’s not sure what, thank you maybe. Or maybe something else, a prayer for benediction, a question. He doesn’t say anything though as he opens his eyes and his heart nearly stops in his chest because sitting across from him in full combat gear with a faint smile on his face is painfully familiar face.

“Matt.”

He whispers, the name coming unbidden to his lips.

“Hey, OA.”

Matt says. And OA knows it’s a hallucination, just his body shutting down and the neurons in his brain going haywire as they die but god he looks so real and he’s sitting right there so close OA could reach out and touch him if he weren’t a ghost and he can’t stop himself from replying.

“Matt, you can’t be here. I saw you-I _heard_ you die.”

Matt just laughs, bangs flopping away from his face under his kevlar as he shakes his head.

“I know, idiot. I died a long time ago. I guess you just wanted to see me one last time.”

“W-why you? Why did I choose you?”

“OA, what are you saying? Are you talking to someone in there?”

Maggie’s calling out to him and he should reply because she’s probably scared for him but Matt’s still looking at him and OA’s so so cold.

“I mean, your brain or your subconscious did or whatever. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here. I dunno how this shit works, do I look like a fucking psychologist or neurosurgeon or whatever?”

“I’m so sorry, Matt, god I’m so fucking sorry.”

OA says, desperate and aching and he feels 22 again, feels like a child. Matt just stares at him, corners of his lips pulled down and eyes sad. He looks like he did the day he died, sandy blonde hair stuck to his forehead with sweat despite the freezing temperatures, the slight dusting of freckles across his sun-reddened skin. He looks young too, he is- _was_ \- young. They were all to young to do what they did over there. To see the things they saw. It’s all so fucked up.

“Sorry for what? Sorry you didn’t die too? There was nothing you could’ve done that didn’t end up with another coffin getting shipped home on the next C-17.”

“Please, OA, you’re not making sense.”

Maggie calls again, louder this time. Her voice is getting harder and harder to hear, like he’s underwater or very far away.

“I still should’ve tried. I was a coward.”

He says, not really sure why he’s fighting this battle anymore, only that he feels like he should. Matt frowns, forehead creasing and OA suddenly has the urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, a dead man and a dying man having a conversation about something that happened over a decade ago in a walk-in freezer.

“No, OA, you weren’t a coward. You were a survivor. You lived, don’t ever be ashamed of that. Me and Billy and Vega, we were goners man. You know that. And if you think we’d rather you’d have died with us then somebody needs to give you a good ass-kicking to get your head on straight ‘cuz that’s some bullshit.”

“I wish you weren’t dead.”

OA says, and it sounds small in the empty freezer. Matt smiles, bittersweet and sad.

“Yeah, you and me both buddy. But hey, looks like you got some good people looking out for you.”  
  
He raises an eyebrow, looking pointedly behind OA and he vaguely registers a loud banging near his ear as Maggie calls out his name. He wonders how he missed that before. Matt starts to flicker, like a staticky television screen flickering in and out of OA’s vision.

“You should probably answer her, doesn’t sound like a chick you wanna mess with.”

He winks, and he’s fading now, OA can see that grey wall through his chest.

“No, please,” he says, and knows he’s begging now but he doesn’t care, “Matt, please, don’t go. Don’t leave me behind again.”

But Matt was never really there and OA blinks and he’s gone.

“I’m not going to leave OA, I’m right here just hang on.”

Maggie says, voice desperate and cracking.

“Maggie…”

He slurs. He sounds drunk or high or tired, he sounds like he’s dying. He doesn’t feel so cold anymore.

“Yeah, yeah I’m right here. I’m not leaving you.”

“I’m sorry, Maggie.”

“Come on, OA, you just gotta hold on a little longer alright. They’ll find us soon you just have to hold on.”

She sounds like she’s crying, but that could be the echo of her voice in the freezer or OA’s imagination or maybe he’s hallucinating this too. Maybe none of this has been real.

“You have to get that leather jacket, remember, so we can match? OA!”

She’s yelling now, banging harder against the door and it rattles against his skull and echoes in his ears but he doesn’t think he could reply even if he wanted too.

“Answer me you asshole! You’re not allowed to give up, who’s gonna have my back if you give up!”

He wants to tell she doesn’t need him to watch her back, that’s she’s stronger then he’s even been, but the words won’t come to his frozen lips and his visions starting to go dark around the edges. There are worse ways to go, he thinks, this is just like falling asleep. And he’s been living so long with death just around the corner; he can’t say he’s surprised it finally caught up to him. When he finally lets go, it feels more like relief then fear and as the darkness comes to meet him he thinks he’s glad it was Maggie here with him, he’s glad he wasn’t alone.

Just as he’s drifting away he hears a loud crash and the sound of many pairs of feet on metal. There’s yelling and he can hear his name but nothing else filters through. Then the door behind his back swings open and his body falls backwards, boneless and limp. There are hands on him then. On his face, his hair, fingers pressed against his neck; hands so warm they hurt and she’s saying his name and he doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s Maggie.

“I got you,” She whispers, “I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”

When he wakes up he’s in a hospital room. Maggie’s curled up asleep in a chair beside his bed, feet tucked under her like a cat. She’s got her windbreaker thrown over her shoulders like a blanket but as he watches it slips off and falls to the ground with a soft whisper of plasticky nylon. She starts awake, head jerking up and he almost laughs at the wide-eyed look on her face. She pauses when she sees he’s awake.

“Hey there.”

She says, quiet.

“Hey.”

He replies, and winces. His voice is rusty and cracked. Standing Maggie walks over to a table by the hospital bed and pours him a glass of water, handing it over. He accepts it gratefully, they both ignore how much his hands shake, and takes a long sip before trying again.

“How long was I out?”

She glances at her watch, rubbing at her eyes a little blearily with her other hand.

“Just about a day now. You woke up a few times before but you weren’t really with it. The doctor said that was pretty normal though.”

He nods. She watches him carefully and he shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

“What happened? I don’t really remember much after the first few hours to be honest.”

He asks finally, more for something to say then out of any real curiosity. She takes a breath, sitting back down and leaning forward to brace her elbows on her knees. Her hairs still in its usual pony tail but it looks messy, like she’s been sleeping in it. He wonders if she’s been here the whole time.

“You started to go down-hill pretty fast after a few hours. You were… you were talking like someone was in there with you and then you just stopped responding at all. Thank god Jubal had tried to call us earlier with a tip. He got worried when neither of us answered and managed to track us down. They showed up just in time. The doctors said if you’d been in there any longer there might have been permanent damage. Your heart was barely beating when they got you here.”

She sighs, leaning back and rubbing at her eyes again.

“Did we at least find the guy?”

He asks, a little morbidly curious. She glances back at him.

“Hmmm? Oh, yeah, he’s in custody. They found in him in a bar a couple blocks down from the port. Bragging about how he got the jump on some FBI agents. Once we threatened to slap him with attempted murder of a federal agent he flipped on his supplier pretty quick. Guess he didn’t really want to kill anyone, you just had some really bad luck and the freezer door jammed.”

She’s wearing the same clothes as she was when they left this morning, or yesterday morning, he corrects himself, and there are thin lines of worry carved into her face.

“You look like crap Maggie.”

He says dryly. She drops her hands and levels a glare at him, but there’s no heat to it.

“Yeah well, you don’t look so great yourself.”

She retorts, with a faint grin on her face. After a second it drops though, and she looks down, taking another deep breath.

“You really scared me for a second there.” She says to her lap, so quiet he has to strain to hear it, “It was like you couldn’t hear me at all, you just kept saying this guy, Matt’s, name over and over and asking him not to leave and then you just stopped saying anything at all and I-”

She stops, her breath hitching in her throat. After a second she clears her throat, looking up at him.

“You know you’re a real dick for saying all that stuff about how it wasn’t my fault, how it was okay. It wasn’t okay.”

He huffs out a laugh, even though there’s nothing really funny about it.

“I’m sorry. I was just…”

He trails off, not actually sure what he was trying to do. Tell her what he had wanted to hear all those years ago maybe. Some sort of prepaid benediction. She shakes her head before he can find the words though.

“I know. You’re not actually a dick.” There’s a long pause where it looks like she says weighing her next words carefully. “Matt, he was one of the guys from al-Asad, wasn’t he.”

It’s his turn to look away now, and he carefully examines the pale blue print of the hospital gown he’s wearing.

“Yeah. Yeah, he was.”

“That must have been…hard. I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, wincing a little as aching muscles protest the movement. God, he really does feel like he’s been run over with a truck, he can’t remember ever being this sore in his life before.

“It’s fine.”

“No.”

Maggie says soft but firm, and he glances over at her.

“It’s not fine OA.”

And the look on her face is so kind for he has to close his eyes for a second. He swallows past the lump in his throat because she’s right, it isn’t fine. He’s so far from fine it’s almost funny. But he’s alive and breathing and safe and he’s learned to take what victories he can.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

He concedes quietly. Maggie pushes herself up out of the chair again, bending over to pick her jacket off the floor.

“I should probably go find your doctor. Get ready for a whole lot of popsicle jokes. Jubal’s been stockpiling them for when you woke up.”

OA grimaces.

“Any chance I can convince you to sneak me out of here before he gets here?”

Maggie smirks and shakes her head.

“No can do buddy. You’re just gonna have to sit tight and smile through it. He did save your life a little bit.”

As she heads for the door he calls out after her, and she stops, turning back to him.

“By the way, does this mean you’re onboard for the matching leather jackets idea?”


End file.
